


No Rest For The "Wicked"

by purpleinkblot



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, comfort after a nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25414534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleinkblot/pseuds/purpleinkblot
Summary: Guilt follows the Inquisitor into her sleep, and Bull is there to bring her back to reality. But when reality and dreams are the same, what is she to do?
Relationships: Iron Bull/Female Lavellan, Iron Bull/Inquisitor, Iron Bull/Lavellan, The Iron Bull/Female Lavellan, the iron bull/lavellan
Kudos: 9





	No Rest For The "Wicked"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silversong79](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=silversong79).



> For silversong79 on tumblr

Summer was admittedly not the most favorable time of the year, Iolanthe would say. Between the rare waves of heat, the occasional crop drought, and the Halla being harder to keep track of as they sprung about the plains; she was happy it didn’t last long. But what good would she be at her job if she didn’t strengthen her nerve? Her clan and the Halla needed her to do her duty, to keep them safe, even when it meant sweating through her tunic until it needed to be peeled away from her skin. Even when her feet swelled in her boots and her back ached, she’d return them all home by nightfall. Nothing allowed her to sleep better than knowing her clan was safe, and knowing that they could come to her in their time of need.

When she saw the Keeper approaching, eyes set hard, she forgot about the Halla, and the pasture.

“Is something wrong?”  
  
“We need to speak.” The Keeper responded, disappointment in her voice.

“What happened? Did I do something wro-”

In a flash the staff she had been using to herd was ripped from her hands, and the Keeper shook her head with a _tsk_.

“Look at what you’ve done, child.” The words struck hard in the elf’s ears, even if she didn’t know why she was being scolded.

“Can’t even hold your weapon properly, and just look at what happened _there_.” The old woman’s finger pointed to a spot on the ground, but nothing seemed wrong with it. There was just grass and dirt. Iolanthe stared at the older woman in silent confusion, only being met with a steely glare, and the elder began to pace back and forth. Iolanthe bent down to examine the grass, then opted to kneel when she was _sure_ she had missed something.

“What…do you mean?” Iolanthe asked with a shuddering breath.

The Keeper didn’t answer, just continued to pace, eyes staring hard at the ground. Another tremble shot up Iolanthe’s back, and it was then that she finally noticed her breath- that it was, well, there. Visible. She shifted her knees, and the grass answered with a dry, miserable crack. She looked down, and it had all turned black. Was it burnt? Her hand reached down to touch it and, no, it wasn’t singed. It was quite wet, in fact, like it had just been smothered in snow. Iolanthe retracted her hand, lifting her head to focus again on the Keeper, who paced in deafening silence.

Cassandra now turned to face her, a hard expression pressing her features tightly together.

“I can not say I trust you with this,” the Keeper’s voice spoke from the Seeker’s mouth “but we have no other choice. You let everyone else die.”

Iolanthe was wracked with shivering now. Wind had picked up all around her and was beginning to slash her skin whenever it pleased. The cold, heavy armor laid on her like dead weight, and she could barely hear the Keeper’s words over her chattering teeth. It hurt. Everything hurt.

Without thinking she stood, suddenly, and when she focused her eyes again she was on a mountainside. It was so high up she swore she was in the heavens, above all Thedas and all life. The pitch black of the night left nothing to be discovered aside from the faintest twinkling of snow that piled high to her knees. Her breathing was ragged now, and once again she was left alone, waiting, in the dark. Her legs dare not move in fear of falling down a slope.

As she was about to cry out, desperate for any other presence, the Anchor on her arm lit up in a flash, making her reel backwards. Not a moment later, the snow glowed a dim, eerie red. It stretched for miles; and before she could process the image before her, the red shone even brighter. Harsh, red light illuminated every expanse of ground with such intensity that it could not be directly looked at. And there was heat. So much heat. Heat enough to burn the underside of her boots, to chase away the frigid mountain air.

She turned to run, not knowing exactly where, but away. Tears pricked the edges of her eyelids, catching the wind and making them sting. A rumble and the echo of rocks falling apart followed her heels, until she stumbled and fell to the restless earth.  
  
Cracks began to form in the mountain’s hard surface, that bright red light growing stronger.

“Stop! Stop it!”

The earth responded with a great split, and from it arose the tip of a crystal. The hue was a blindingly scarlet, and it seemed to radiate a vibration that turned Iolanthe’s stomach. Her hands made contact with the ground and she began pushing herself away from the intrusion, gasping as it rose higher, the mass of it uprooting the stone. With dawning horror she realized that the crystal in front her could only be red lyrium. The kind she had only seen one other time so far.

“No…oh Gods no…”

What she saw next nearly stopped her heart. Long, gray, craggily fingers wormed themselves from deep below, followed by sodden hands and arms. Bright red glowed in the veins of the rotting flesh. One of the hands shot up and grabbed her ankle, pulling her several inches forward towards the split that was gaping wider and wider. Iolanthe reached for her sword but it was gone. She tried to scream but it was drowned under horrid cries from the creatures down below. The creatures…

The Red Templars.

Guilt and shame and fear overwhelmed her as more hands yanked on her boots, moaning and wailing as if in harmony.  
  
“Help us…you did this… _You_ …” Red smoke ascended into the air with each word, it stung like acid, and made Iolanthe choke.

Neon light blinded her as she was nearly dragged over the edge, not being able to find the strength to pull herself up.

“I’m sorry! I’m _sorry!_ ”

And then she fell. 

Iolanthe shot up and awake, letting out a shriek she barely registered, as it mixed with the still-echoing wails bouncing back and forth in her mind. Sweat soaked through her shirt, eyes darting wildly, breaking through the haze of her visions. She came-to enough to realize it wasn’t the hands of corpses constricting her, but rather the sheets she had tangled up, no doubt from thrashing in her unrest. 

Gone were the moans and screams of the corrupted. Gone were their rigid, sharp digits on her skin. And gone was the red smoke that choked her through her tears. Iolanthe looked down at the sheets around her legs and felt her whole body quake. Only two breaths managed to escape before she dropped her head to her knees, sobbing. Was she being punished? Was she an offense to the Gods for fighting under this _Andraste_? How many more people were going to be hurt because of her?

The Red Templars had been her fault. Their corruption was the result of her taking up more power than she deserved, more than she could handle. And failing. Then they had come to kill everyone else, and were still out there. Corypheus would infect them, turn them into monsters like him, and she’d stand between them and the world, and do nothing. Because she couldn’t. Her whole life had become a joke, and the Anchor had become a death sentence.

She was about to cry again when a sudden crash and heavy footsteps bounding up the stairs ripped her from her grief, but her mind was still drowning in the visions, and didn’t even recognize the sound until a massive great-axe poked out from the lower half of the stairs.

“Boss! Are you alright?” Iolanthe’s gasp caught in her throat, mouth agape in confusion until Bull rose to her line of sight. His head swiveled, eye focused on the dark room for an assailant, but he was quick to see there was none.

“Boss?” he said again, chest heaving from the adrenaline, still not letting his guard down.

Silence stretched between them as she stared at him with wide eyes. Her breath came out in small puffs, mouth dry and face wet from tears.

“What are you doing up here?” her voice croaked in a whisper, a simple question, as if nothing had happened. The Qunari’s weapon slowly descended to his side, marking the confusion in her expression, and the glossy distance in her eyes. Had she not heard herself screaming? Another minute of silence passed, and he decided to place his weapon at the banister and walk carefully to her side.

“You were screaming for help. Were you asleep?”  
  
Iolanthe slowly turned her head from him, staring blankly ahead. He let her breathe and process what was going on, and when she did, it was evident. Tears sprang a new, and a shaky exhale left her lips. As soon as the sobbing returned, Bull sat himself on the side of the bed and pulled the Inquisitor to his chest. A massive hand stroked the back of her neck and black hair, and the other arm wrapped around her back. It was painful to hear this, but he had to let it ride out to find out what was causing it.

They don’t know how long the sobbing and sniffing and gasping continued; but when the storm was ebbed, blue-green eyes –now also mixed with red- looked him in the face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. The Qunari brushed some tears off her face and peeled away sticking wet hair.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he answered, softly, a part of him that was just for her. His arm didn’t leave her when she sat up, wiping her face roughly against her shirt-sleeve. There was frustration, then, along with distress. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t want to think about it- the dream. I-I don’t want to talk-”  
  
“Ssh, it’s alright. You don’t have to.” Iolanthe’s torso jumped with an involuntary sniff. She wished she could just stop crying already. The longer it went on, the more it felt like she lost, like the terror had gotten the better of her and wouldn’t leave. She’d never survive like that.

“How did you hear me screaming from all the way downstairs?”  
  
Bull’s eyebrows shot up, then he turned his head…almost sheepishly?

“I, um,” he coughed out “I wasn’t downstairs. You’ve been…off, all day, jumpy. It was bothering you to be left alone. Something was telling me to wait, just in case.”

Iolanthe rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, eyes stinging.  
  


“Thank you.” it was a whisper, but she knew he had heard it when his lips touched her forehead. The kiss had been a surprise, much gentler and intimate than what they normally did, but she sunk into it.

“If you were in need of help you should have asked. You don’t have to put the weight of the world on your back.”  
  
“Yes I do, I don’t have a choice.”  
  
“No, you have people here that will help you. You have me.”  
  
“…I know. I just feel like…the more I talk about it…acknowledging it will make it stronger.”

“No. Keeping things to yourself until you fall apart is only going to hurt you. I’m here for you, and not just for the job.”

This time he kissed her cheek, barely brushing her skin, and she let out a relieved sigh. There was a warmth in her face now, and a feeling of change in that room. Her head rested back on his chest, breathing finally becoming smooth.

“Are you alright now, Kadan?”

She barely processed the name, opting to nod and squeeze his hand.

“Stay with me?”  
  
“I’ll stay here all night if you want me to.”  
  
“…I do.”

Their bodies moved until they laid flat, Iolanthe’s upper body now resting on his. She could almost purr at the gentle fingers in her hair.

She didn’t sleep that night, even with her eyes closed Bull could tell, and he stayed there all night. He’d be by her side no matter what. After all, killing demons is what he did best; be it on the battlefield or right there, in the heart of the woman he…

Loves.


End file.
